


Riding for the Throne

by write_in_ice



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, Blood, Dany!Charles, Drogo!Erik, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fill, Implied Incest, M/M, Violence, X-Men First Class Kink Meme, non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-04 07:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_in_ice/pseuds/write_in_ice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is a royal exile sold by his step-father (Kurt Marko) to a fearsome warlord (Erik) for an army to take back his throne. Charles tries to survive and adapt to his new life as magic returns to the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from the Kink Meme
> 
> Based on A Game of Thrones where Charles is Dany and Erik is Drogo. Pretty much follows the GOT story with more x-men-y things. Game of Thrones Spoilers so read at own risk. As dark and disturbing as Game of Thrones. If that's not for you turn back now. Not yet Completed.
> 
> I would greatly appreciate comments. Thanks!

Charles looked out at the narrow sea from the balcony of the manor house. The crisp blue waves crashed onto the beach with such force—such power—that it made him shiver. For three years, he’d lived in a rich man’s house on the edge of the sea. He’d been provided for, fed, and clothed, and yet it never felt like home. Home was far away. Home was a place he barely remembered. Charles pulled his linen jacket tighter around his thin frame as the salty breeze rustled his thick brown hair. Footstep echoed off the walls and he closed his eyes as they moved towards him.

“You will be perfect today, Charles.” His step-father whispered, grazing Charles’ ear with his cheek. Kurt Marko was a stern man with a temper to match any Charles had ever met. His eyes were wild and his grin was cruel, but to Charles he was family—the only he had ever known. 

Kurt ran a finger down Charles’ neck and across his shoulders, pulling the jacket away and letting the linen fall to the floor. “The stubble on your cheeks say you’re nearly a man now. Let him see your strong shoulders and your strong...” Marko trailed his hands lower and lower until he grazed the edge of the boy’s white linen trousers. Charles swallowed as his step-father straightened the thin fabric that rubbed against his thighs. 

Marko grinned. “Keep your back straight. Legs apart. Good. Let him see what he can take. Khal Erik will no be able to say no to you. You will be his King and I will have my army. Soon I will take back what is mine...ours.” 

Charles had heard the stories of Khal Erik. He was ruthless and savage and feared across the grasslands. His horde was greater than that of seven Khals, and there was nothing that he wanted that he could not take. The boy licked his lips. His voice was quiet and weak. “Please,” he said. “I don’t want to be his king. I want...” Marko’s grip tightened around Charles’ waist. He could feel his step-father’s breath, hot and angry on his neck.

“What do you want, Charles? To go home? We have no home. Shaw the usurper took it from us. My claim, your claim—he took it all. This is how we get it back, Charles. We take it with an army and show them that the Juggernauts are unstoppable. I would let Khal Erik’s entire brotherhood of riders fuck you if it got me my army.” Marko pulled away and Charles gripped the balcony to keep from falling. “Now pull yourself together and come downstairs. The Khal will want to see you before the ceremony tonight.”

“Tonight?” Charles choked meekly.

Marko smirked. “Why wait?”

* * * * * 

 

Charles could hear the sound of horses as he descended the marble steps and joined his step-father on the lawn. The ground shook as hooves dug into the lush green grass, kicking up mud and dirt as they neared. He counted fifteen riders, each of them bronzed by the sun, with braided hair entwined with small metal rings. Each looked fearsome sitting tall on their mounts clutching their blades, but none more so than the man who edged his horse forward. 

The great Khal wore nothing but a pair of hide leggings and belt of rope, which held a sharp, curved blade. He was tall and strong. Bands of red and blue paint circled his biceps and blended to a dark purple. His shoulders were corded with muscle but he moved with a confident ease; lithe, like a leopard. Dozens, if not hundreds, of metal rings had been braided into his hair, and clinked together in the seaside wind. 

“For every victory,” Marko whispered. “For each town they slaughter or Khal they defeat, they take a prize. Bronze, iron, silver—it makes no difference. They melt it down and make the rings to tell others of their victories. Rumour has it Khal Erik bends the metal himself. When they lose, they cut off their braids. Khal Erik has never lost.”

Charles swallowed as the warrior’s clear blue eyes fell on him. They were hard, unmoving, but there was something else—something Charles could not place. He took a step forward, standing tall as his step-father commanded, still feeling the heat of the Khal’s stare. But the Khal did not move. His lips were drawn into a thin line. No frown. No smile. His face was a stone tablet in a language Charles couldn’t read. It took all of the boy’s strength not to run, but even a glance back to the manor house would have angered his step-father. The Marko name had become synonymous with rage and cruelty—an unstoppable juggernaut—so Charles remained in place, keeping his eyes steady on the rise and fall of the great Khal’s chest. Erik’s tanned skin was slick with sweat and oil. His muscles rippled with every breath—in and out, in and out—until Charles heard a single word in a thick accented voice. He knew he had heard it. It echoed in his mind and seeped into his consciousness. 

Mine.

The boy’s eyes flicked up to the Khal’s face but Erik had not moved an inch. His face was still stone. His eyes were still searching. He had said nothing, nothing; but in Charles’ mind he had heard the thought as clearly as the ringing of a bell. A lump formed in his stomach as the Khal turned his horse and motioned for the horde to follow. Charles felt a hand on his shoulder.

“He will be back at sunset if he liked you, boy.” 

“He did.” Charles said meekly, watching the brotherhood ride away. “I am his.”


	2. The Vow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles takes his vows.

The sun was low in the sky, casting an orange hue above the water. Tents and fires littered the beach and the smell of cooked meat wafted in the air. Charles’ wanted to gag. His legs shook as Marko took his hand and led him through the centre to the waiting Khal. Erik had added a red leather belt to his waist, and darkened his eyes with coal, but looked much the same—still terrifying, still impressive. He stood on a rock ledge slightly above the crowd. Charles could not help but stare as he slowly made his way forward, but no one else was studying the Khal’s perfect shoulders or how the lines of his muscles forced the eye lower and lower until... 

No, the horde was more intrigued by the pale, slim, man-child who would soon be their king. Charles’ cheeks pinked when he realized all eyes were on him.

“Do not show fear, boy.” Marko squeezed his step-son’s wrist so hard the skin raised and reddened. “The savages don’t tolerate weakness. If a tear slides down those pretty pink cheeks of yours the Khal will cut you down where you stand. Do you hear me?”

“Yes.” Charles whispered.

“You will stand by his side, say his words, and I will have my army. I will take back what is mine. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, step-father.”

Marko grinned and released his grip as Charles ascended the rocky steps and took his place beside Khal Erik. Only then did Charles notice that the Khal was not alone. A woman stood at his side. Lines of blue paint ran down her neck, across her shoulders, and to the tips of her fingers. The paint was all that marked her as a member of Khal Erik’s brotherhood of riders. Instead of leather, she wore a navy doublet under a steel breastplate; instead of a curved blade, a long-sword hung at her hip; and instead of braids, her shoulder length hair was slicked back with oil. 

Khal Erik walked to the edge of the rock and cheer arose from the crowd below. The noise was deafening to Charles. Metal rang on metal as the brotherhood saluted their king. For the first time, Erik’s hard face softened. With the raising of his hand, his people quieted and the Khal began to speak.

His voice was low and guttural; hard and fierce like an animal. The words flowed freely and quickly with passion and power. The crowd hung on his ever word and every movement. Charles could not understand a word of it, yet he was mesmerized. He had spent all of his life running from house to house, some rich and some poor, and never staying too long. He had learned to watch his back for the usurper’s dogs and live on scraps. Some men had been good, some not, but none had ever commanded power as Erik did that night. No one. Not even his step-father.

Charles blinked when he felt a tug on his arm. He had been so entranced he had not noticed that the woman had move to his side. 

“Go,” She said motioning to the Khal.

“You speak the common, tongue?” he asked in awe. 

“I do, Lord Xavier, but there will be time to talk later. Khal Erik is asking you to come forward. He waits.” 

Erik stood with his hand outstretched and Charles flushed again. He took a breath and a step, and was surprised when the woman followed him. Erik ran is tongue over his bottom lip and nodded, taking Charles’ hand in his. Charles stumbled as the Khal pulled him forward, steadying himself against the man’s broad chest. The corner of Erik’s mouth turned up and there was a glint in his eye, like he knew something no one else did. Charles tried to pull away but found Erik’s other hand clasped on his waist. Erik’s voice echoed above the waves when he spoke.

“He says he has chosen his Khal.” The woman translated. “The son of a great clan from across the sea.” Charles looked down as she continued. What had Marko told him? What did this Khal believe? “He says that today is a great joining and will be remembered for all time. Tonight Khal Erik, son of Khal Jakob weds the Juggernaut’s son, Charles Xavier.”

Erik tipped the boy’s chin upward so their eyes met. His voice was low.

“He says ‘If this man will be mine’.”

Charles could feel the tears brimming as he stared into the Khal’s stern blue eyes. I cannot be weak, he thought. I cannot show fear. 

“I am yours, my Khal.” His voice shook and the woman spoke his words in the tongue of the brotherhood. 

Erik roared and cupped the boy’s head with his hands. His lips curled into a smile, revealing a grin of sharp perfect teeth. His calloused fingers scratched Charles’ cheeks and the boy’s heart raced. For a moment Charles heard that one word again. Mine.

The boy was stunned as the large man’s lips met his. They were soft, but strong and powerful, like the Khal himself. The man’s deft tongue parted Charles’ lips and explored his mouth. Charles closed his eyes, letting the sensation overwhelm him. He had been kissed before but never like this. Maybe it was fear, or maybe curiosity, but Charles returned the gesture and kissed back. Erik tasted like ash and honey and a low moan escaped his lips as the Khal’s hands moved from his face, lower, until one found the curve of his bottom. Charles let out a breath in surprise and Erik pulled away, eyeing his new king. He ran his tongue over his teeth and held the boy in place, running his hand across his upper thigh. He stroked lightly, grazing Charles’ cock. The boy let out a whimper...

...and then a cry of pain. Charles hadn’t seen Erik unsheathe the blade. He was too quick, too precise. A line of blood bubbled from the palm of Charles’ pale hand. Terror washed over his face and he tried to pull away. What had he done? What had he promised? He fought and jerked but Erik kept him steady. With a grin the Khal raised his blade again and rested it on his own palm. He didn’t flinch as he squeezed, letting the blood drip to the ground.

“Qoy Qoyi,” he said, releasing the blade and pressing his hand to Charles’. He entwined their fingers, letting the blood mix. Charles swallowed as the dark red dripped down his wrist. 

“Qoy Qoyi,” he repeated.

“Blood of my blood.” Charles heard the woman say.

“Blood of my blood.” Charles whispered. 

Erik nodded and raised their hands to the crowd. A cheer broke out and the chant began. 

“Qoy Qoyi. Blood of my blood.” 

Charles caught a glimpse of Marko in the crowd. He was smiling.


	3. The Gem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is given a unique present.

“Hold still,” the woman instructed as she wrapped a strip of cloth around Charles’ injured hand. “That’s it. There will be a scar but the salves will keep the infection out.”

Charles winced as she tightened the bandage. “Thank you.”

“There is no need to thank me, Lord Xavier. I do it gladly.”

“Then you are a healer?”

“No, Lord Xavier, not a healer, but I have spent enough time with the brotherhood to mend a shallow wound.” She knotted the cloth and sat down beside the new khal. “You did well, you know.”

“The Khal will not think so,” He said, avoiding her eyes. “I was afraid.”

“Erik is no fool. He knows you come from a different world. He knows you are young. Yet, you stood with him. You allowed him to bond blood with blood. Do you know what that means?”

The young man shook his head.

“The riders believe that people are only truly connected when blood is spilled together. Men become brothers on the battlefield. The connection is stronger than a family name. Sons do not inherit in the brotherhood. Only those who earn their place will ever rule. Erik has given you the honour of being one of them. He has already accepted you, Lord Xavier. You are already his.”

Charles licked his lips, trying to comprehend her words as he watched Erik weave through the crowd. Men and women danced to the beat of a drum, barely clothes. It was more skin than Charles had ever seen. When one man push a woman to the ground and mounted her Charles looked away.

“You see those three, Lord Xavier?” The woman pointed to the outskirts of the crowd. Three men stood together watching Erik’s every movement and surveying the scene before them. The first was covered in red paint and carried a whip to match. The scars that marked his face were terrifying. Beside him a handsome man with grey eyes held a bow. The third was solemn with blue paint across his chest.

“Who are they?”

“The Khal’s Bloodriders. His most trusted men. Azazel is so quick with his whip no man see’s him coming. Janos can make arrows fly like the wind. McCoy has a mind that bests all others. They are yours now too, Lord Xavier. They will fight for you—protect you.

“Blood of my blood.” He whispered.

She nodded.

 

“Don’t listen to a word this one says, boy.” Marko stumbled onto the rock. The stench of wine perfumed every word he spoke. His movements were thick and clumsy. Charles had seen him like this many times before. The Juggernaut liked his drink but the drink did not like him. “You see that bird on her chest? It’s the Raven of Darkholme. Liars and thieves the lot of them. Turned their backs on their rightful kings time and time again. This bitch can’t be trusted.”

“As you say Lord Marko,” The women replied through gritted teeth.

“I’m no lord, wench. I should be your king!”

“And now your stepson is my king.” 

Marko’s face reddened and nostrils flared. Fear circled the pit of Charles’ stomach. The Raven had unleashed the cruelty of the Juggernaut and Charles flinched as his step-father raised his hand in anger.

“I will teach you respect, girl.” He bellowed...but the strike never came.

Instead, a whimper escaped the exiled king’s lips as Khal Erik wrenched his arm behind his back. The Khal’s coal lined eyes strayed to Charles as he plied pressure to Marko’s wrist. Panic flooded Marko’s bloodshot eyes. All of them knew that Erik could snap the bone as easily as a dry twig. He didn’t. 

Instead he released Marko and spoke rider’s words to the Raven. He knelt behind Charles, so close the boy could feel his breath on the back of his neck. Charles dared not look at his step-father, as Raven stood.

“Your husband wishes to give you your wedding gift, Lord Xavier, but there is one more to open first.”

She brought forth an ornately carved box. The detail was exquisite and shimmered in the firelight. Raven set the box in front of the two Khals and lifted the lid. A small red jewel lay on a bed of parchment. It glittered as firelight glinted off its many faces. It took Charles breath away.

“It’s beautiful.” He looked up “What is it?”

“It is a relic from your family—a shard of Cyttorak, Lord Xavier. Very rare. They say that when magic filled the world the gem gave your ancestors incredible power. When they were near it, all their natural gifts were heightened. If they were strong they were able to crush stone with their bare hands. If they could climb they were able to scale mountains in moments. It made them near unstoppable. Of course, the magic is gone now, but the gem is still a precious thing.”

“Who would give me this?”

“One of your benefactors perhaps? Someone who awaits your return to the throne?”

He studied his reflection in the gem until the Khal stood, took his hand, and pulled him to his feet. Erik ran a finger over his bandaged hand but frowned when he noticed the boy’s wrist. The skin was still raised and red and Erik narrowed his eyes in question. Charles was silent but a quick glance to Marko told the Khal all he needed to know. His lips curled and he bared his teeth as a growl rumbled in his throat. His hand played with the sharpened steel at his side. Fear gripped Charles again. Marko had been his only companion for so long. He could be cruel, yes, but they were family. He could not lose is only family. Not now. Not when they would soon be going home.

Raven closed the box and spoke in the rider’s tongue. Erik sneered but placed a hand across Charles’ chest, as his breathing steadied. 

“What did you say to him?” Charles asked as he allowed the Khal to lead him away.

“It should be your choice, Lord Xavier.”


	4. The First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles endures his first night with his Khal (Erik). Erik takes pleasure from his new husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the wedding night....
> 
> I'm hoping I can get another update done over the weekend but it won't be up as quickly as these last ones. Thanks for all the comments and kudos. It really means a lot.

The crowd parted as the two Khals made their way forward. Charles followed Erik, his hand stinging slightly in the warlord’s tight grip. The three bloodriders stood at the edge where the grass touched the sand and Charles looked up, hoping Erik would explain. But, the great Khal stayed silent and kept his eyes forward until they reached his men. As they neared, Charles could see that one of them held something in his hands. When Erik nodded McCoy stepped forward leading a silver horse that took Charles breath away. It was beautiful and strong—stunning. Erik eyed Charles and released his hand, pushing him towards the beast.

“For me?” Charles asked in awe.

“She is the most intelligent, loyal beast in their care, Lord Xavier,” He heard the Raven call out from a distance. “They call her Cerebra.”

Charles brushed his hand across her nose. He had never had a horse of his own and never dreamed of one such as this. The Khal’s mouth was still firm but a glint in his eye told Charles that he was pleased.

“How do I thank him?” He asked as Erik’s strong arms lifted him from the ground and onto Cerebra’s back.

His step-father’s voice rang above the crowd even though Charles could not seem him.

“You know how to thank him, boy.”

Erik’s warhorse was bigger and stronger but Cerebra kept his pace. The wind felt cool on Charles face and made his hair dance as they rode through the countryside. For a moment he felt like he was unstoppable, like he was free. Then, Marko’s words filtered back into his mind. 

You know how to thank him. 

Charles knew what was expected of him and what was at stake, but for a part of him wanted to run. He could flee through the hills, maybe sell the beautiful animal and hire a ship at the coast. They would catch him, or course, though he was not sure who would get to him first. Marko would be furious but maybe in time his step-father would forgive him and they could go back to the rich man’s house and forget the horselords and the army they promised. If he turned his Cerebra now he would have a chance at his own life. A chance...

But Khal Erik’s mount came to a stop and Erik dismounted. His strong legs absorbing the weight of his frame as he landed on the grass. Charles closed his eyes. The chance had passed and with a pull of the reigns Cerebra was still. When he opened them Erik had walked to the edge of the cliff. The Khal looked majestic in the moonlight. The sun had set and a thousand stars dotted the night sky. From his mount Charles could see the distant hint of land across the water, though what land, he could not be sure. He heard the Khal speak low in his own tongue before turning to face him. His face was stern...determined. 

 

Charles felt weak as Erik lifted him from Cerebra’s back, as easily a mother carried an infant, but managed to stay upright when his feet touched the grassy field. A shiver ran up his spine as Erik circled him slowly, like a lion staking his prey. The warlord’s eyed moved over every inch of him before the Khal’s hands went to work. Erik ran a single finger across the boy’s chest and down his abdomen until he reached the simple cloth that hung on his hips. 

Charles could feel all the power and heat that this man possessed and swallowed as Erik found the tie of his trousers. With one pull, the knot loosened and the thin linen pooled at his feet. He trembled as the cool night air touched the most sensitive part of him and again when Erik’s hand moved across his thigh. His able hands explored the soft flesh, playing with the coarse curls and sliding his thumb up the young man’s shaft. Back and forth. Slowly. Nearly as light as air. Soon Charles felt his cock twitch and come to life. His cheeks redden and he tried to pull away but Erik clasped a strong hand around his waist.

“Mine.” 

Charles mouth went dry as the Khal took a jar from his belt and tossed the thick red strap into the weeds. He unlaced his own britches and slid them off his toned and tanned body. The smell of leather and sweat hung in the air.

“Y...you speak the common tongue.” Charles stammered, unable to look away from his Khal’s nakedness. All of him was big—his hands, his feet, his cock. The latter was hard and ready. Charles licked his lips nervously. “Do...do you know any others words?”

“Mine.” Erik repeated, dipping his hands into the jar and letting the oil run through his fingers. The slick liquid dripped down his forearm and over a mark Charles had not noticed before. It was small and faded and Charles had to squint to make it out. It looked like a brand had been taken to his flesh, an identification mark, but the glyphs were in a language Charles did not know. Unthinking, He reached out to touch them.

“What is this mark?” He asked, but a low growl escaped the Khal’s lips and he slipped behind his new husband. 

“Mine.”

Charles tried to relax and be brave, but his heart raced as the Khal’s oiled hands once again explored his thin frame. Oil trailed over his shoulders and down his back. Erik traced the curve of his ass with one hand while the second once again found the boy’s hips. With one motion, Charles could feel Erik’s cock hard against his back and his breath on his ear. The Khal’s lips moved down his neck and across his shoulder blade. Charles yelped when he felt teeth nipping softly at his soft skin. Erik was pleased and bit down harder, moving his hand back to Charles’ cock.

Erik’s words repeated over and over again in Charles’ head—mine, mine, mine—as the Khal stroked his shaft. Lightly at first, as if he was only toying with him, but now it came faster and faster as Erik’s grip tightened. With each stroke, Charles felt himself coming closer and closer to ecstasy. His cock pulsed and Charles felt himself moving in rhythm with every caress of the Great Khal’s hand. He raised his head to the sky and squeezed his eyes shut. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, panting like a pup in need of water. He wanted to scream but only a moan fell from his lips.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please.”

But Erik didn’t release him. Instead the Great Khal dipped his hand into the oil pot and with a grin took his own cock in hands. With two strokes his manhood glistened. Erik ran his tongue across his sharp teeth before tasting Charles’ earlobe. He tugged once before Charles heard his thick, wet, voice.

“Mine.” 

Erik’s strong arms gripped Charles’ shoulders a forced him to the ground. With on motion he positioned himself as the boy struggled beneath him. Charles fought as the weight of his khal bore down on him. He grasped and the grass and dug his fingers into the dirt, trying to get away. His knees sank into the soft ground as the Khal pushed him forward. The big man stood over him in triumph and Charles could feel nothing but fear. Then, he felt nothing but pain.

Without a sound or warning, Erik thrust his oiled tip into Charles tight opening. Charles stared straight ahead. Unable to think. Unable to breath. Erik adjusted his hips and slid in further and Charles gritted his teeth. 

"You know how to thank him," He thought. 

He muffled a scream as the Khal bucked and then pulled away. Relief. The weight of the man and his thick cock was gone. Was it over? He felt the drip of oil across his backside. Erik’s hands plied him and kneaded him. He knew it had only begun. 

Erik grunted and plunged forward, forcing himself into Charles’ narrow passage. The whimper of the man beneath him did not stop him from pushing deeper and deeper until he filled the boy completely. The Khal roared in triumph and began to thrust. Again and again he pushed harder, digging his fingers into Charles’ back. Erik groaned and grunted. Charles could taste blood. He felt himself rip and stretch. Every movement felt like flames licking his skin. He cried out but the Khal took no notice. He clawed but Erik did not care. Charles could hear Erik’s heartbeat as he pounded. As the pain washed over him he concentrated, letting the rhythm sooth him. Thump. Thump. Thump. His mind cleared and for a moment there was nothingness, like a plain of untouched white. It was as if the world had stopped. Then something flickered and Charles, through a blur, could see a small boy. He was chained, he was beaten, and glyphs marked his forearm. Charles tried to concentrate. He wanted to know more.

Without warning Charles felt a hand on is cock and the image vanished as a shriek escaped his mouth. Erik was moving faster now. Over and over and deeper and deeper. With every buck of his hips, he pulled, tightening his grip.

No. Charles thought, as fear and pain lodged in his throat. 

Mine. The voice in his mind said. 

The boy couldn’t help it and began to pant, rocking as Erik tugged. Erik groaned and squeezed harder as his cock plunged deeper. Then, the Khal shifted, knowing he was near. Once. Twice. Charles felt Erik shudder and his seed fill him. The Khal threw his head back in triumph but not before he knew his husband was through. In spite of himself, Charles shuddered too, spilling his seed into Erik’s hands. He choked as the Khal wrapped his arms around him and curled up in the grass. Tears flowed down Charles cheeks and he did nothing to hide them.


	5. The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short update: Charles has a hard time adapting. Marko is a dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. This is a really short update but I felt I should post something since it has been so long. More on its way.
> 
> As always, comments are greatly appreciated!!!

Week after week was much of the same. By day the horde would ride through the grasslands, fighting and plundering any unfortunate soul who blocked their path. Their purpose was war; their destination glory. The riders grinned as their blades ran red with blood and cried out to their gods when the killing was good. Each evening, as the light faded, tents would be pitched, fires would be lit and the great Khal would take what was his by right. Charles had come to expect it. Every night, he was brought to his husband’s tent and every night he gripped the furs that lined the ground as his husband took his pleasure. At first the pain was almost too much to bear. He’d clench his jaw and swallow back the screams that threatened to choke him. Now he stared forward, dead-eyed and soulless, as Eric grunted and thrust. When his seed was spilt, Eric would stoke his fire until it was hot enough to taste the heat in the air. For hours, he would let the metallic prizes of his fallen foes melt and twist before forging perfect metal rings. Charles would collapse on the stained furs and wish for death.

Charles’ body had not adapted well to the life of a rider. While Eric’s skin browned and glistened in the afternoon sun, Charles’ skin burnt and peeled. The little weight he had fell from his thin frame and his back bruised from his Khal’s forceful hand. The boy’s legs were rubbed raw from the motion of his horse and his thighs were blistered and sore.  He sagged into the Raven’s arms as she pulled him from his mount and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“You need to rest, my Khal.” She said soothingly. “Tend to your wounds.”

Charles shook his head weakly. “I must please Khal Erik.”

“You heard him, Raven.” Marko wore a cruel grin as he dismounted. His silk trousers were covered in dust and mud from the trail. His hair was matted from the wind and he walked slowly, trying to hide the limp the ride had given him.  “My boy must please the savage. That was the deal. Charles’ ass for an army. A difficult thing to give up, yes, but a bargain I was well willing to make. I wonder...Why oh why would you want us to break our deal?” Marko slid a finger across Charles’ reddened cheek. “What good would that do you? Unless...the Raven has a secret?”

Raven grabbed Marko’s wristed and yanked it way from Charles’s face, twisting until she saw pain in his eyes. There was surprise too. Charles had seen the sword she carried and the armour she wore but she had never given into the mentality of the Riders. When they fought and killed she would stay by his side. He had never seen her enjoy killing like they did. He had never feared her but as she glared at the deposed king, Charles could see her strength, and her training. She could put down his step-father with a single swing of her blade if she wanted to but she waited.

It should be my choice, he remembered.

Charles touched her shoulder and the strain released from her body as she let Marko go.

“How dare you!” Marko shouted, examining his wrist and fumbling for the dagger on his belt. After three attempts he loosened the blade from its sheath and slashed wildly at the air. Charles clung to Raven but the soldier held her ground. “You think a scheming bitch like you can lay a hand on a king?”

Raven said nothing as a large hand covered Marko’s mouth and pressing down on the bridge of his nose. Both heard the crack as it broke and Marko’s muffled words turned into muffled screams. Erik found Charles’ eyes but the boy looked down. With a grunt the Khal tossed Marko to the ground. He extended his bloodstained hand to Charles but, before Charles could take it, the Raven spoke. The boy watched his Khal’s eyes as he listened. The blue pools changed as she spoke, softened, just slightly, and when the woman was through he said nothing. Instead he took one hard look at his husband and walked back to his tent. Charles let out a breath.

“What did you say to him?”

“I told him you needed rest, to save your strength. I told him the truth, Lord Xavier.” She brushed a strand of hair away from his face and for the first time Charles realized how shaggy it had gotten. “Khal Erik can be reasoned with, my Khal. He is not heartless. Come; let me see to your sores.”

Charles nodded and leaned on the woman as he limped to her tent, leaving Marko to writhe on the ground in pain alone. 


	6. The Mystic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven takes Charles to her tent to clean his wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I couldn't stop. I was supposed to spend the day writing something else but this happened instead. Hope you are still following along.
> 
> As always, comments are extremely helpful.

Raven laid Charles down on a bed of furs and propped up his head with a down-filled pillow. He stifled a moan as he fell into the soft bedding. Blood and puss seeped through his thin britches and his shoulders ached where the skin had begun to peel. She filled a bowl, found a rag and knelt by his side. Water dripped across his face as she wrung out the cloth and wiped away the dirt of the day. She was gentle as she patted his neck and chest but Charles winced as she shifted the fabric against his legs. Raven dropped the cloth into the water and pulled a knife from her belt, touching the tip to the band of his pants. Charles recoiled as she nicked the linen.

“You can’t,” He said hoarsely.

“They must come off, Lord Xavier. This is the easiest way.”

“They were a gift from—”

“Marko?” She asked, looking into his terrified eyed. “You will have many gifts, my Khal. All more precious than a cheap pair of pair of slacks. They are no good for riding. Too thin to keep the sores away. The brotherhood wears wools and leather to protect their skin. You should do the same. Do not cause yourself harm out of loyalty to your step-father. Would he do the same for you?”

Charles watched her as she set the knife down pulled bottles from her pack. Some contained thick salves, others dried roots and still others he did not recognize at all. Carefully, she mixed them into a paste, tasting the concoction on the tip of her finger. When she was satisfied she turned to him.

“Your wounds need to be cleaned, my Khal, but it is your choice.”

“Cut them off,” he whispered.

She nodded and picked up the knife. Deftly, she sliced at the fabric and exposed his skin to the cool night air. Charles grimaced as she peeled the cloth back from his bloody thigh.

“Easy, my lord.” She said as she tugged it away and tossed it into the fire. “The worst is done.” Raven dug her hands into the mixture. It was cool to the touch and Charles shivered as she rubbed in onto his skin. Her hands were light as she kneaded the salve onto his thigh, careful of her touch on the open wounds. She moved up and down slowly letting the mixture do its work. The boy blushed as her fingers brushes his cock but she neither noticed nor cared and continued her work. When she finished both legs she stopped. “I wish to do your back.”

The young Khal nodded and with much effort and a little help rolled over, careful to keep weight from his newly cleaned thighs. He expected her to work as she did before but Raven hesitated.

“What are these bruises?” She asked, running her finger lightly over the marks on his hips. Some were deep and dark while others had yellowed and paled to a sickly green. He swallowed as her hand continued across his purpled ass. Even the slightest touch made him gasp. “Has Erik done this to you?”

“He is my Khal.”

“And you are his,” she replied, lathering her hands. She started with the welts on the back of his legs, sores from days of riding, and then moved to the bruising of his hips. “I am sorry Charles,” She said as she pressed her fingers between his battered cheeks. A terrible cry echoed in the tent and he struggled against her as she brushed his opening. “I must do this,” she soothed as she stroked his back with her other hand. “The salve with help you heal.” His muscles tensed and his face reddened as she applied a second layer of cream. He shut his eyes as her fingers plied him, sending spasms through his back and legs. Then the coolness took over and the salve started to work. He relaxed as she removed her hands and washed them in the basin. Charles breath was ragged as she helped him to his side. His eyes were red and swollen. She kissed his cheek. “You will stay here tonight. Rest. Tomorrow will be another day.”

“You are a healer, aren’t you?” Charles croaked, letting the medicine relax away his pain, and sinking into the softness of the pillow.

“I have been many things, Lord Xavier. A soldier, a captive, a lady, a turncoat.” She paused. “Some have called me a mystic. I have learned what herbs can do and... I have learned what men can do. There is a great strength within you, my Khal. In time you will learn to show it.”

“I’m not. The Khal—”

“The Khal chose you. He could have any man or woman he wanted and he chose you. There is a reason for that. He sees what you are and what you can be. He is brutish, and hard.” She touched his bare skin. “You have lived through how rough he can be. Soon it will be you who commands, Lord Xavier, you who he looks to. You must learn one thing though.” A guttural string of words spilled from her lips; the words of the brotherhood. She knelt by his head and ran her fingers through his hair as she repeated the last word over and over. Charles cleared his throat and mimicked her as his eyes fluttered. “Good, Lord Xavier.”

“What is it, Raven? What must I learn?”

She smiled as she stood and walked to the flaps of the tent. “You must learn to say no to him, my Khal.”

She slipped through the tent as Charles drifted off to sleep. That night he dreamt that Khal Erik’s clear blue eyes watched over him while he slept. When he awoke he was dismayed to find the tent empty.


	7. The Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles explores the camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short update. They're still coming. Thanks again for the feedback and as always comments are appreciated. 
> 
> We're building.

A line of sunlight crept into the tent as Charles began to stir. He blinked, adjusting his eyes as the sounds of the camp reached his ears. He could hear the laughter of children and the shuffle of feet. Pots clanged and women chattered. He sat up slowly and pulled his aching legs to his chest. The paste had dried and crumbled into the furs during the night. The sores were still there but the redness had dimmed. The blinding pain was now only a dull throbbing. For the first time in weeks, a smile spread across his face.  As he stood, a thin sheet floated to the ground, revealing his nakedness. Raven must have covered him during the night. A plate of dried horse meat sat by the door—a folded robe beside it. He took both, and when he had dressed he joined his people outside.

The burning sun told Charles that it was mid-day and yet the horses ambled across the field lazily. Cook fires burned and both men and women lounged topless in the heat. Not since the wedding, had he seen the horde at rest, and while that was brutal and terrifying, this seemed entirely different. He wandered through the lines of tents. Mothers chased children while the men tended the pots. Others mended cloth and washed their soiled clothes. Meat turned on spits while horses were brushed down. Simple things. Normal things.  He had seen each of them before, in his lifetime of running. Charles knew they watched him as explored the camp. Heads turned and eyes flicked upward from their chores as he passed by.  Children stopped and stared as their mothers pulled them away. Some bowed, while other nodded and Charles’ face flushed every time.

            He noticed Marko sitting lazily on the grass alone, but there was no sign of the Khal. Only them did he realize he had been looking for him. Charles closed his eyes and placed a piece of horsemeat in his mouth, letting the rhythmic chewing calm his mind. The meat was tough and aged but filled the stomach. The horde ate what they had, and they had a lot of horses. Charles swallowed and took a step back. His foot caught a rut in the dirt and he stumbled. He reached his hands out to stop himself but found a hard chest in front of him instead of ground.  Charles looked up into an angry scarred face. A growl clung in his throat and his eyes burned into him. As Charles pulled away, his hands were sticky with red paint from the man’s chest. Charles recognized him. He was one of Erik’s three. The bloodrider handled his blade with one hand and whip with the other and a prickle of fear ran up Charles’ spine.

“Qoy Qoyi,” he managed to stutter.

The man’s face stretched into a sly grin. “Qoy Qoyi.” He repeated, raising the steel. Charles flinched as the blade came down and a low laugh rumbled from the rider. A rat lay dead at his feet, cleaved in two.  The rider studied Charles with his eyes as he picked up the dead thing, sneering as he turned away. “Qoy Qoyi” he repeated and Charles shivered. Blades were the difference here—blades and blood. In the horde there was no escaping either.


End file.
